<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A Two-Parent Job by ALH1997</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22939786">A Two-Parent Job</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALH1997/pseuds/ALH1997'>ALH1997</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Family, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:01:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22939786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALH1997/pseuds/ALH1997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade have two amazing children, Alexandra (7) and Bertie (4). But sometimes Greg feels like he is the only parent with Mycroft remaining cold and detached. Greg decides that he needs to have a chat with his partner and set the record straight.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes &amp; Greg Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A Two Parent Job</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Daddy, Daddy!” shouted a young girls voice from across the playground.</p>
<p>Greg Lestrade jolted awake from the park bench where he’d been sat. He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but he blinked them rapidly, trying to clear the sleep away. His eight-year-old daughter was running across the playground towards him, clutching at a piece of paper and seemingly excited about something as she was grinning from ear to ear.</p>
<p>“Alex!” he grinned, “What’s up?”</p>
<p>Alexandra Lestrade-Holmes was short for her age. She had light brown, curly hair and hazel eyes, a mix of Mycroft’s grey and her surrogate mother’s brown, yet Lestrade had brown eyes as well so he was happy. She had a slight lisp and, to Mycroft’s horror, spoke more like Lestrade than Mycroft. Alex went to City of London School for Girls, a private school in Central London and her younger brother went to The Westminster School. Greg would pick up Alex from her school then hop on the tube to watch Robert at his swim lesson, rugby practice or hockey practice.</p>
<p>“Daddy!” Alex said breathlessly, “Our ballet class is doing the Nutcracker at Christmas and I’m playing Clara!”</p>
<p>“Oh, wow!” smiled Greg, “That’s fantastic! I’m so proud of you!”</p>
<p>“Thanks, but…” her face fell.</p>
<p>“What is it, honey?” asked Greg, going down on one knee so that he was her height.</p>
<p>“Two things,” she said sadly, “Daddy Myc wants me to focus more on my studies, he thinks that ballet is trivial and will only interrupt my learning and I’ve got to stay behind after school every day and we’ve got to come in at the weekends now and in the weeks leading up to Christmas.”</p>
<p>Greg smiled and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “Yes, Alex, your academia is very important, but you’ve got to have fun too. Look at Bertie and all his sport! I’ve seen you dance, and I’ve seen the way your eyes light up when you dance, I’ve seen the joy that it brings you. So, you leave Daddy Myc to me!” he tapped the top of her nose and she giggled. “And as for staying late after school and coming in at weekends, I’ll just stay late at the office and come and get you when you’ve finished.”</p>
<p>“Oh, thank you, Daddy!” she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Greg chucked and stood up.</p>
<p>“You’re welcome squirt!” he looked at her and offered his hand, “C’mon, let’s go find your brother!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Robert, or Bertie as he was known to just about everyone, was a five-year old boy. He was Greg’s biological son and you could definitely tell. He was a miniature version of his dad, being stocky with strawberry blonde hair, brown eyes and a button nose. He was your typical boy too, running here and there, boisterous and loud. But he was also kind, caring and compassionate with a talent for sports. On a Wednesday afternoon, as was today, he was in his schools swimming pool for his lesson. They got the tube across the city, Alex informing Greg about her day and what she’d been doing. Once there, they sat on the benches at the side of the pool. Whilst waiting for Bertie’s class to come out, Alex showed Greg some of her ballet moves that she had been working on for the Nutcracker, then, when Bertie jumped into the pool, Alex sat cross legged on the benches and did her homework. Greg watched his son swim up and down, laughing and learning.</p>
<p>About halfway through the lesson, Greg’s phone went off. He looked down and saw the name, Sally Donovan flashing up at him. He groaned and Alex looked up at him.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong, Dad?” she asked, concerned.</p>
<p>“Nothing, sweetie, I’ve just got to take this call.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” She replied and went back to her maths homework.</p>
<p>Greg stood up, waved at Bertie and indicated his phone and the door, hoping that Bertie would understand. Bertie gave him the thumbs up, smiled, then did a handstand. Greg smiled and shook his head as he answered the phone.</p>
<p>“Lestrade.”</p>
<p>“Hi, boss. Sorry, I know you’ve finished for the day, but we need you to come in.”</p>
<p>“Why?” he asked, one eye still focused on what his son was doing.</p>
<p>“We’ve got a case and you’re the only senior detective we’ve got.”</p>
<p>“I can’t,” he replied, “Bertie’s got his swimming lesson. I’m here now with Alex.</p>
<p>“I know and I wouldn’t ask if there was someone else, but there isn’t. Can’t you call your partner to sit with the kids?”</p>
<p>“<em>Mycroft,</em>” he emphasised, “Wouldn’t come for something like this.”</p>
<p>“You’re kidding me?” she scoffed, “Greg, I’m sorry, but you’re both parents to those two children. He should take some responsibility.”</p>
<p>“I know and I keep meaning to talk to him about it but I keep getting… distracted.”</p>
<p>He could hear Sally roll her eyes on the other end of the phone, “Are you coming then?”</p>
<p>“Let me call John and see if he’ll take the kids. They can have dinner with him and Rosie.” And he hung up.</p>
<p>Greg turned back and looked at Alex. She had stopped doing her homework and had looked up to watch her brother. She was smiling away. She then turned her head and looked for her father. She caught his eye, smiled and waved. Greg smiled and waved back, walking over to her.</p>
<p>“Everything ok?” she asked, looking down at his phone.</p>
<p>Greg just looked at her apologetically.</p>
<p>She smiled, “You’ve got to go back to work haven’t you?”</p>
<p>He nodded, “I’m sorry, this keeps happening.” He said sadly, “I’m going to phone John and see if he’ll look after you and I won’t go until he comes.”</p>
<p>“Oh well, at least we get to hang out with Rosie.”</p>
<p>Greg smiled, “Thank you.” He said, hugging her suddenly.</p>
<p>“What for?” she asked, laughing slightly</p>
<p>“For being you.” He replied.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Half an hour later, Greg was back at Scotland Yard, HQ for London’s primary police force. He had worked here ever since leaving school at 16 and he loved it. He would willingly admit he wasn’t a great copper, his dependence on Sherlock was testament to that. But he prided himself on being a good man, a good husband and a good father. Mycroft Holmes was making this last fact near on impossible to maintain. He loved Mycroft and would move heaven and earth for him, and he knew that Mycroft was a difficult man. He didn’t show his emotions well and his job came before anything or anyone else. Yet Sally was right, they were co-parents. They both had a duty to their children, not just Greg. His thoughts brought him back to his office. He hadn’t got much work done. He placed his head in his hands. Then, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at it for a while. Then, he found Mycroft’s number and placed the phone to his ear.</p><p>“Yes?” came the sound of his husband’s voice down the phone.</p><p>“Hi, it’s me.” Greg panicked</p><p>“Yes, I know that Gregory. Your name comes up on my phone screen. Is this important? I have a meeting with the PM and you know she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”</p><p>“Mycroft, we need to talk. About the kids. And me.” There was silence on the end of the line. Greg sighed, “I’ve just been called back into work, but I hope to be finished by nine. There’s a café that is called Carpo, near the Criteron Theatre that stays open late. Meet me there.” He went to hang up, but heard Mycroft ask;</p><p>“Wait, who has the kids?”</p><p>Greg smiled. Damn you, Mycroft Holmes, he thought. He could be a completely heartless arse at times, but he did care.</p><p>“John has them.” Greg replied, “They’re staying over and John said he’d take them to school in the morning.”</p><p>“I’ll see you at nine thirty.” And with that Mycroft was gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nine thirty came around and Greg took a look at the mountain of casework that lay before him. He groaned, all thoughts of being able to go home at nine, vanishing with every second. He now knew that he would likely be there until the small hours of the morning. But the kids were safe at John’s and he had a date with Mycroft Holmes to keep. Scribbling a note to Donovan explaining where he had gone and that he was not to be contacted unless it was a dire emergency. He then grabbed his coat and left.</p><p>It was a pleasant evening. Lestrade noted as he began his walk through the city. It was still busy despite the lateness of the hour, with students running from lecture theatres to pubs and locals meeting friends for dinner after work. London. The city that never slept. Lestrade could remember being a newly licensed police officer, patrolling the dark streets of London, always amazed when he met someone other than himself wandering around. Thirty something years later and he would still be amazed. He could easily have taken the Tube, but he thought the walk would clear his head. Cutting up through Horse Guards Parade, he crossed the road and entered St James’ Park. The park was quieter than the streets but there was still plenty of activity going on. Many of the people in the park were late night joggers, or people walking their dogs. Lestrade made sure to pay attention to where he was walking, trying not to let himself get distracted. The last thing he needed was for someone to get into an argument with him after he walked into them.</p><p>Once he was clear of the park, he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. He knew he had to stand his ground. Mycroft had to be more proactive when it came to Alex and Bertie. He knew it was harder for him to connect with people, that’s just who Mycroft was. But he had agreed to have children and when they were babies, he had been more involved. Now he was so far removed from the situation as they were both in school. He wouldn’t come to Alex’s dance recitals or Bertie’s football matches. He didn’t spend time with them at the weekends and he would occasionally ‘help’ with their schoolwork. When Greg said ‘help’ what he meant was criticise and moan about the way they were being taught.</p><p>His pondering had brought him to the café. He looked in through the window. It was pretty much empty, Mycroft wasn’t there yet. Now that he wasn’t walking, he noticed a chill in the air, so he walked into the café. He smiled at the young lady behind the counter and found a table at the back. The young lady walked over and asked him if he wanted anything to drink. He ordered a black coffee and a slice of coffee and walnut cake. He had only just remembered that he hadn’t eaten but the cake should tide him over.</p><p>He didn’t have long to wait before the tall imposing figure of Mycroft Holmes walked into the café. As he approached the table, Greg stood up and gave his husband a quick kiss before sitting down again. Mycroft glanced at the empty plate and coffee cup and smiled.</p><p>“Forgot about dinner again?” he asked.</p><p>Greg smiled, “You know how it is.”</p><p>“Bad case?”</p><p>“Double homicide in Tower Hamlets. Two teenagers, fourteen and sixteen. Stabbed. By the looks of things.”</p><p>Mycroft shuddered. There wasn’t much that disturbed him, but the murder of two kids made him physically sick. “Tower Hamlets?” he asked, “Isn’t that your old stomping ground?”</p><p>“East London?” Greg replied, “Yep, born and bred in the east end.”</p><p>“Make you wonder what the world is coming to. What kind of a world Bertie and Lexie will grow up in?” Greg coughed at this and Mycroft gave him a look. “Ah, I’ve hit a nerve there.”</p><p>Greg sighed, “Its not so much that you’ve hit a nerve, more that…” he paused, trying to think how to phrase the next part. He looked at Mycroft, keeping eye contact with him, “I’m on my last legs Myc. I’m at the end of my rope. I can’t keep going…”</p><p>Mycroft just looked at him.</p><p>Greg chuckled, “I fell asleep today. On the bench. In the playground. Waiting for our daughter. I didn’t even realise I’d fallen asleep, didn’t realise I was that tired.”</p><p>“You are human Gregory,” said Mycroft, “You can’t carry on forever.”</p><p>“But I have to!”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because I’m a parent!”</p><p>“I’m a parent too!” protested Mycroft.</p><p>“Could’ve fooled me…” muttered Greg, darkly.</p><p>“I can’t hear you when you mutter, Gregory. You know this.” Sighed Mycroft, as if he was dealing with a teenager.</p><p>“I said you could have fooled me about being a parent.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“Let’s face it Myc, since Bertie started school you’ve been an absent force in their lives. We rarely see you, you take no interest in what they are doing. For Christs sake, Alex was scared to tell you that she got the principal role in her Christmas ballet performance because she thinks you think it’s a waste of time and you have no idea that Bertie has been chosen to play for both the school football team and the hockey team. Mycroft, your own children, the children you chose to bring into the world, that we have raised, are <em>terrified </em>to talk to you.”</p><p>“They both seem…fully…functioning…”</p><p>“Is that the best you can do?” asked Greg in disbelief.</p><p>“Look Greg, you’ve already said it, I’m not very good with people.”</p><p>“These aren’t just people. They’re our children, your children!” He fumbled in the pocket of his suit and pulled out two pieces of paper and placed them down on the table. One was of Alexandra, performing an arabesque, smiling widely. The other was of Bertie, in his football kit, holding his man of the match trophy, looking extremely proud of himself. Mycroft looked down at the photos and he felt something warm in his heart. He could feel the corners of his mouth form into a smile. He looked up at Greg.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I never meant… I never dreamt…”</p><p>“I know and I should’ve said something sooner but…”</p><p>“You were afraid to?” Mycroft smiled.</p><p>Greg blushed, “What can I say? You’ve just got that personality.”</p><p>Mycroft smiled and reached across the table to take Greg’s hand, who squeezed it in response. “I promise, I’ll be better at the whole parent thing. I will. I’ll make time for them. With Daniel and Keira, I left it to Amanda. She didn’t work, so it just seemed the best thing to do. But I see you and I know how hard you work, and I see how well you’ve looked after Lexie and Bertie. And I want… I need to be more involved in their lives.</p><p>Greg smiled, “Bertie has a football match at the end of the month, three weeks’ time. I’m sure he’d love it if you would take him. Plus, it would mean that I could pick Alex up from Ballet and still see him play…”</p><p>Mycroft grimaced, but then smiled, “I’ll be there.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Three Weeks Later</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">THREE WEEKS LATER</span>
</p><p>It was a cold, blustery Saturday that Mycroft Holmes found himself stood by the sidelines of an AstroTurf pitch, holding a mug of coffee, surrounded by parents cheering on their children. There were a few people he recognised from work and other governmental departments that he had fleeting dealings with. But the weather and the questioning looks didn’t bother him. For the whole week leading up to the match, Bertie had not stopped going on about how Mycroft was going to watch him play football. That was all that mattered to him.</p><p>However, if you thought that Mycroft was going through this alone, you would be wrong. He had bullied his younger brother into coming along as well. Sherlock was stood moaning beside him, while Mycroft ignored him. He knew Greg and Lexie would be joining them after her dance rehearsal before she went back that afternoon.</p><p>“Why are we here, Mycroft?” asked Sherlock</p><p>“<em>I </em>am here supporting my son,” Mycroft explained, “<em>You </em>are here to support your nephew.”</p><p>“Why isn’t Greg doing this? He’s the proactive parent?”</p><p>“We had… words… and decided that I needed to be more involved.”</p><p>Sherlock looked at him.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“No, you were clearly going to say something. What was it?”</p><p>“I’m just… surprised that’s all.” Never put you down as the caring sort, you never were when we were children.”</p><p>“People change.”</p><p>“Hmm…” Sherlock turned his attention back to his nephew. “Oh, it looks like they are about to start playing.”</p><p>“Kick-off, Sherlock, I believe it is called kick-off.”</p><p>“Yes that.” Sherlock scanned the sea of small children, “Where is he anyway?”</p><p>“I believe he’s player number one, or at least that’s the number on his shirt.”</p><p>Sherlock grinned, “Oh, by the way, John wants me to invite you all to Rosie’s birthday party. Especially Lexie, Rosie said Lexie <em>had </em>to be there.”</p><p>Mycroft smiled, “Please inform Doctor Watson that we shall be there.”</p><p>“Hello you two!” came the voice of Greg Lestrade.</p><p>Mycroft and Sherlock spun round to see Greg and Alexandra walking towards them. Well, you say walking, it looked more like Alex was hanging off Lestrade’s arm as they approached.</p><p>“Lexie!” Mycroft called and the now 9 year old child ran toward him. He picked her up and gave her a hug. “Say hello to your Uncle Sherlock.”</p><p>“Hi Uncle Sherlock.” Alex smiled, leaning across her father to give Sherlock a hug. Sherlock patted her on the back and replied,</p><p>“Hello Lexie.”</p><p>“How was dance?” asked Mycroft.</p><p>“It was really good thank you. We managed to get the whole way through the party scene.”</p><p>“That’s good.”</p><p>“RUN BERTIE! GO ON, RUN!” shouted Greg. He turned back to Mycroft, “She’s being modest. She did very well. Myc, you should see her. She’s got real talent.”</p><p>Mycroft smiled at his daughter in his arms, “I promise, I’ll come see the finished performance.”</p><p>“Really?” asked Alex, hardly daring to believe it.</p><p>“Really.” Replied Mycroft.</p><p>“Mycroft, you couldn’t make it through the opening act of Les Miserables without asking me to rescue you. Ballet will be a lot worse, no talking only music.” Sherlock said, looking at his brother in disbelief.</p><p>“I think I’ll be able to manage.” Mycroft replied, still looking at Alex, “Don’t you?”</p><p>She nodded and the group of them turned their attention back to the football match in time to see Bertie score a goal.</p><p>“YES!” shouted Greg, punching the air.</p><p>Sherlock was deafened by his niece screaming in his ear in delight. Even Mycroft shouted, “WELL DONE SON!” Bertie ran over and Greg picked him up. They joined Mycroft who was still holding Alex.</p><p>“Did you see me Dad? Did you?” he asked looking at Mycroft, his eyes wide, breathless with excitement.</p><p>“I did!” replied Mycroft, “I’m proud of you Bertie.”</p><p>Greg put him down as the Ref blew the whistle, he then went and stood by Mycroft and Alex, his arm wrapping round Mycroft’s waist.</p><p>They were going to be okay.</p><p>That’s all that mattered.</p><p>
  <span class="u">THE END</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>